The moment before a fight was one of pure adrenaline, and exactly nothing to do with it.

Cut could hear the chants of her name whenever there was a lull in the jeering. Being a champion didn’t mean bring any exemption from the crowd’s hatred, there were always more than a few betting on the dark horse.

“FREAK!” A woman yelled and then a man, and then another and another.

The people of Udrebam really are original.

She had stopped dodging the apples thrown at her, the Net made sure they only sold proper rotten ones that broke apart on impact in any case. Back in the old days, they used to let them throw actual cow shit. It occurred to Cut, as she felt all warm and fuzzy just imagining what she’d do if that happened, that it was probably due to fighters like her that it was now banned.She focused on the frimey hallway opposite her, needing something to press her wits against before the crowd’s roaring. Waiting for her opponent, waiting for Two-Fists.

He appeared soon enough, and if Cut didn’t know any better, she’d think his spark was making crowds cheer. They practically exploded and Cut could feel their energy in her knees. She’d be lying if she told herself it didn’t bother her.

It doesn’t bother me.

It didn’t help that the fucker was an outsider, a mainlander probably and was simply here to get a few notches under his belt; he wasn’t her and that was enough to put him over for them.Two-Fists, wasn’t much to look at. He lived up to his name, at least, but most men capable of tying their shoelaces did.

He was much taller than her which, was not a very common thing to see in a man, and his head was a hairless thing, skin tan like a southerner, arms that of a lifter, which meant he’d be slower than her. And stronger.

As he neared, Cut got a better look at the man, his body was littered in the remnants of bruises and cuts, disclosured where the skin refused to heal properly. ]

His face, however, told a different story, a good looking thing, nose clearly broken more than once, but little enough that she could tell this was a man who avoided most of the headshots he had aimed his way.

Well, of course he’d try to do that, but the level of success Two Fists had clearly enjoyed was perplexing.

He wasn’t fast on his feet, she could tell that much already from his build, so that left blocking, and yet… his forearms were spotless, even more so than his face, from his fingertips to elbows.

That didn’t make any sense, how did he block without getting his arms scraped up?The announcer checked on them both and asked that they take a few steps back from each other. They both did, the fight was about to start now.

Two-Fists didn’t say a thing, only glared at her like he was about to eat her face. Bless him. She preferred that to talking any day, some fighters liked to say something mean, pretend this was about anything other than kicking the shit out of the other for money, it wasn’t.

“BEGIN!” The announcer shouted, and they did.Cut kept her fists up and her body compacted, giving him as little to hit as could be managed; Two-Fists kept his arms high, fists curled into a ball, the giant meaty things looking as solid as a wall and then they were. From his fingers to his elbow, the skin greyed, hardened and finally stiffened. It was as if a part of him had turned to stone.

That answers a lot of questions.

His grin let her know her the shock was written clear on her face.

Proud of yourself eh? One would think you had to work for that, you little shit. His statued fists came at her, and she felt a breeze on her head as she ducked the first one. Cut answered it, iron knuckles raining down upon him from all angles. The outcome did not surprise her but it certainly did piss her off as the metal met stone over and over again, glancing from it with a revolting scrape.

She was fighting a boulder. The boulder rolled, tis time into a headbutt, she hadn’t expected that, far too weary of the slabs of stone he wielded, and she was punished for it. Hot pain burst across her face as something snapped with a sickening crunch. The world was white, just for a moment and she knew he’d use this moment of blindness to land a proper blow, one that would lay her out, kill her if she was particularly unlucky.

She couldn’t let that happen. Cut raised a foot, and by the time she saw colour again Two-Fists was flinching backwards, arms raised to cover as much of his body as they could and eyes affixed on her legs.

Scared, are we?

There was one advantage to not knowing what an opponent's spark was, it meant you didn’t have the time to obsess over it as the days neared, build it up in your head as you heard more and more stories of what your opponent’s little gift from the goddess was capable of.She blinked away the tears in her eyes, wiped the blood from her nose and slowly set her foot down. The crowd let their disappointment show as snarling boos, they wanted to see the Cutter Cut. Not yet, not now. One of the first things Toothpick taught her was that the fear of a spark evaporated the moment after it was seen in action, which meant it didn’t get better than the first time she used it. She wouldn’t give Two-Fists the opportunity to get familiar with her spark, it was his fault for handing her that luxury.Two-Fists closed the gap between them, he was fast for a man his size, faster than she’d have preferred. His knuckles chased her and each blow found the place Cut had been an instant before. He’d get exhausted before she did, carrying all that weight around, but all he needed was just one good hit and it didn’t seem like either of them were going to be asking for a breather any time soon.She studied his spark with each near-miss, habitually, but deliberately. Even a power as simple as his could have hidden trappings. The crowd never appreciated caution however, the lack of contact had them throwing fruit at both opponents, and the quick jabs she occasionally threw into those rocky forearms to keep Two-Fists at bay evidently didn’t exempt her.

Stolen novel; please report.

A poorly landed hit scraped her shoulder and the crowd cheered as Cut stumbled out of a body shot that would have had her breakfast soaking into the dirt floor. The crowd exploded with excitement. It’s not contact they want to see, it’s me brained on the floor.Things weren’t going Cut’s way. Twofist had grown more confident, and worse still more competent. His hits were adjusting to her movements, and Cut wasn’t dodging as many now, instead she was getting accustomed to the pain that lanced up her arms when she parried a blow off course. The stone proved victor in any frictive contest against skin, tearing in the worst occasions and leaving painful burns marks on better ones, it was only a matter of time now before she would take something she couldn’t walk away from. And Cut still couldn’t figure out how to take advantage of his spark.She could tell the stone was lighter than it looked, Twofist’s speed attested to that. And trying to get past his guard was like breaking through a moving fortress, no matter what she threw at him he just deflected it with his forearms, form always perfect, fists unmoving, not even flinching. Not even twitching on instinct at the impacts… no, not at all, why was that?

She had it.

Cut looked at the spark with new eyes, the grey colouration extended up to just beneath his elbow and he could move everything above, but nothing below.

His fingers and wrists, she could, see weren’t frozen in place out of discipline, he couldn’t move any part of him covered in the spark. You can’t grapple.Cut moved into his reach, ducked below a blow, grabbed his arm and slipped behind him, his hands moved to grab her, surely on instinct, but her guess had been right. The fist-tight fingers gave him less grip than a toddler’s.

She took her chance, digging knuckles hard into his liver with a floating right, grinning as she felt the iron knuckles sink deep into flesh and fold him over. Twofist was hurt, he told her as much by dropping to his knees, vomiting on the floor and quite possibly wetting himself.

Cut snaked around him, wrapped her arm around his neck and squeezed. A headlock. He tried to stand, she slammed her knee into the back of his, sending his face to the ground. Two-Fists punched blindly upwards, and Cut weathered his poorly angled blows. They weren’t nothing, they felt about as good as being hit by a man with rocks for hands might, but they were glancing blows.

I’ll feel that tomorrow, fuck, I’m already feeling them now.

Cut had a man’s frame, it was one of the few advantages her condition brought, but this bastard was built like a damned pith.

He struggled harder and Cut kept her weight on his back, hearing him cough and splutter as he wriggled and jerked only had her tightening the hold, waiting for the moment his body would go slack. It didn’t come.

The greyness faded from his skin and his giant meaty hands came for her, palms wide and fingers poised like the jaws of a bear trap. She couldn’t wrestle with a man his size, so she didn’t.

Cut moved off him, his fingers wrapped around her arm but she was gone before he found purchase. A hot burning pain told her where his nails had dug into the skin before she ripped free.Twofists was rolling to his feet with vengeance in his eyes. Almost there, Cut widened the distance between them and Twofists was sprinting to undo it. She started towards him with a half-step and then her foot was in the air, throwing a textbook kick at the space between them. A sharp pain lanced up her leg like it always did when she used her spark, magic touching her limb with the scream of witches burning at a stake. The air between them shimmered, and an arc of pressure in the shape of her strike appeared, just barely visible as a razor-thin ribbon.

It shot towards Twofists, and yet again he flinched, but he had been preparing for the arc for a while.

Probably knew how fast it moved, knew how far it could go and certainly knew that it was just sharp enough to cut a man down to the bone.

He managed to raise an arm up before it reached him, doubtless guessing his spark would weather the arc, and likely right. But his fists were yet to harden themselves again. The ribbon of air bit into soft tender flesh, first that of his forearm and then the parts that didn’t fully connect with it slashed across the unguarded areas of his chest.Twofists stumbled back and he had a look on his face like he’d seen God. The blood came a moment after, falling in rivers, running down his arms to leave two puddles beneath them as they dangled at his sides. He looked upon the wounds with wide eyes, eyes that told her he was only just remembering that he’d let go of his spark moments before.

The physicians, if any of the Net’s staff deserved the title, were on him in a moment, well used to her spark and well learned in how best to stem the blood-loss, they’d do as little as they could get away with to save him. The anger of the crowd came a moment after in curses and swears, some cheered though. Those who had made a good winning off of her. Cut didn’t care which was which.

Fuck them, fuck them all.

She was tired, her body hurt and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and die.

No more… no more of this, Cut told herself.

Until next month at least.